


The History of Us

by The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja



Category: Bleach
Genre: College, Conspiracy, Death, F/M, Gen, Human, Humanity, Out of Character, People, Suspense, Workplace, hollows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja/pseuds/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja
Summary: Sōsuke Aizen is a man with many plans.  To simple plots to convoluted coups, nearly every scheme can be traced back to the former Fifth Division captain.  And now, in the presence of his loyal Espada, he unveils one his past most intricate and conniving ploy yet.Before the Espada became Hollows, they were humans.  Simple, meager souls who wandered their way into Hueco Mundo due to lack of the performance of konsō or because of an extended stay in the World of the Living as newly deceased spirits.They were all alive in the same time period, in the same town, and died on the same day, and all were affiliated in some way with the legendary company, Hollow World Inc., whose founder is suspiciously reminiscent of Aizen in a gigai.Aizen shows each of the Espada a glimpse of their last days as humans, and what they find shakes them to their very cores.Warning:  Characters might be pretty OOC and character relationships might change.





	1. The History of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

**Author's Note:**

> There is no introduction, and we go straight into the story of the first Espada's history. And by first, I don't mean rank by their strengths. 
> 
> Also, the time period is not canonically accurate, because the manga leads us to believe the Espada were born many years before present day.

Grimmjow woke up to the sound of Lincoln Brewster's "Oxygen" blasting in his ears. He fumbled to turn the damn noise off and groaned sleepily. To think, just two weeks before, that had been "his song"—the one that could be heard on autoplay when he was writing his essays or blasted on the stereo when he was driving to school. Now, whenever he heard it through the voluminous speakers of his phone as his morning alarm, he wished he could claw his ears off.

To his surprise, something indeed came toward him and _did_ try to claw his ears off—but the claws that it was attached to came from a pale white feline upset at the very loud alarm.

Grimmjow scowled at the animal, who somehow through the night had found its way onto his bed and had curled up beside him. "Di-Roy," he growled, "how many times have I told you guys? This bed is for babes only—not cats." The cat mewed hautighly and deftly jumped off of the bed. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and did the same, only to be greeted with yet another angry snarl. A second cat swiped at his heels for nearly stepping on him.

"Fuck you, Edrad," Grimmjow grumbled as he picked up the whining animal, whose spitfire temper was not put out even as his owner petted him. He let the wiry cat go and it scampered down the hall. "You know better than to sleep on the ground by my bed."

He sighed and ambled slowly down his small apartment, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and yawning. As far as he was concerned, five o'clock in the morning was far too early in the morning for _anyone_ to wake up, yet he did it anyway. Grimmjow stumbled over to the pantry and grabbed whatever shit he could to eat—it just so happened to be a very healthy cinnamon roll that day—and groaned when he saw that the massive bag of cat food he had purchased earlier in the week had a gaping hole in the bottom and a very fat cat digging eagerly in.

"I swear, Nakeem," he spat as he yanked the cat, who let out an annoyed hiss, out of the bag, "you're more dog than you are cat." He dropped the animal on the ground by his feet and it sprinted (as fast as an overweight feline could) to join his watchful comrades by their feeding dishes. His fourth and probably least annoying cat, Shawlong, had also meandered from his convoluted sleeping place (on top of the fridge) and waited patiently for his feeding.

 _I swear, twenty-two-years-old and I'm already a crazy old cat lady_ , Grimmjow thought as he poured out the dry kibble into their various dishes. They gnawed at it gingerly, for they preferred wet cat food, save for Nakeem, who barreled straight in.

Grimmjow sighed and threw his cinnamon roll in the microwave—he liked it steaming hot with the icing dribbling down—and did a double take when he saw the phonebook page that was displayed on the top of the appliance.

"No," he demanded at the advertisement. He closed his eyes and then reopened them in hopes that the horrific image would disappear. " _No_. This is not happening." He internally cursed that goddamn cheesedick Charlotte Chuhlhourne and ripped up the page into little pieces. He scooped up the shreds, threw them down the drain, and flicked on the garbage disposal. His cats mewed in alarm, but he paid them no mind.

Grimmjow had asked earlier in the month if Charlotte (who also happened to feed his cats in the afternoon when he was at university) could spare the time to design an advertisement for Grimmjow's morning taxi driving service—working as a part-time taxi driver, part-time janitor and full-time university student didn't leave much time for anything else. The man had eagerly agreed and swore on his mother's life that it would be the best advertisement in the history of advertisements. For some supremely stupid reason, Grimmjow had believed him.

Charlotte obviously hadn't thought of his mother's life when he had designed the ad for the phonebook. First of all, he'd gotten the entire service's _name_ completely wrong. Grimmjow had specifically registered it as "Pantera's Taxi Service", but for some reason, Charlotte got it into his idiotic head that it was "Pantera's Super Sexy Amazing Glittery Fabulous Ninja Awesome Sparkly Espada Beautiful Spectacular Fantastic Wonderful Bodacious Stylish Voluptuous Perfect Taxi Service". The title alone took up ninety percent of the allotted advertisement page, along with the phone number.

If _that_ hadn't been enough, Charlotte had also included a picture of _himself_ leaning against a car (why in the world was it pink and looked like it was from the 90's?) in the background, posing in what he thought was a supremely sexy fashion. Grimmjow threw up a little in his mouth.

 _What an asshole_ , Grimmjow decided. He banged his head against the microwave in despair. And the advertisement was supposed to be printed in the newspaper, too.

Absolute fuck.

He retrieved his cinnamon roll from the microwave and began to chew on it despondently. Well, now he was bound to get absolutely no customers. Who the hell would be raring to ask for a taxi ride if they saw _that_ advertisement? Hell, they'd probably burn the phonebook or newspaper just at the sight of it. He sighed. And he really needed the money, too—keeping up with his college loans was harder than fuck.

Heck, if he had Charlotte's number or address, he'd kill him (whether by phone or physically was an issue), but alas, he did not. Damn, and Charlotte even knew where he lived, too.

Just as he cursed the drag queen once again, his cell phone rang loudly, this time playing "Blank Space" by Taylor Swift. Grimmjow blushed a bit as he heard the ringtone. So what if he liked Taylor Swift? Just because it wasn't super cool or manly didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a catchy tune when he heard one.

He glanced at the caller ID. Seeing as it was an unknown number, he knew it was probably a customer (who had heard of him through any other means _besides_ Charlotte's advertisement). He put on his most amiable voice, but it was still laced with annoyance and exhaustion. Waking up early could do that to you, but he couldn't sacrifice customer service.

"Pantera's Taxi Service, how can I help you?"

The voice on the other line didn't sound much more pleasant and said gruffly, "Pretty sure I got the wrong number. I thought you were Pantera's Super Sexy Amazing—"

Ah. So he _had_ seen the ad and hadn't run away. Such dedication. He must have _really_ needed a taxi.

"—Yep, that's me. Need a ride?"

There was a pause at the end of the line. "Yeah, a few actually. Pick me up at Five Santa Teresa Drive and then we'll talk." Another pause. "And could you make it fast? I'm kind of in a hurry here."

Huh. If he was certain, Santa Teresa Drive wasn't that far from his own apartment, perhaps, maybe two or three complexes over. That certainly made things easier. Then again, the man _had_ said that he had more errands to run, so nevermind.

"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes," Grimmjow affirmed, before hanging up the phone. Well, _that_ certainly turned his morning around. Quickly, he raced up to his room to get ready. As he pulled on a presentable pair of pants and a tee, he calculated in his mind. It would take him approximately seven minutes to get to the address given, twelve if he was counting the minutes he would have to spend in traffic, which left him . . . about two and a half minutes before he would have to be out the door once he finished changing.

 _Damn_ , he thought as he grabbed his wallet, _shoulda told him to wait longer_. As he neared the door, he glared at his cats, which was becoming a daily routine. "Don't ruin anything, and behave yourselves. When Charlotte comes in to feed you guys, feel free to maul his fuckboy face off," he commanded sternly, before rushing to start his car.

He worked independently, so he had no fancy vehicle with the word "taxi" emblazoned on the sides; his blue 2008 Toyota Sienna would have to do. For the record, he had managed to get a magnet to stick on the back of the card that said "Pantera's Taxi Service" and his phone number. It didn't help all that much, but whatever.

"Five Santa Teresa Drive," Grimmjow repeated, before revving up the engine. He expertly backed out of the apartment parking lot and into the crowded city streets. The roads were particularly uneventful, save for the din of workers rushing to get to their jobs in the wee hours of the morning, which accounted for the overly busy streets. The radio reported that there was a huge traffic jam a few blocks ahead, but lucky for Grimmjow, arriving at Santa Teresa Drive would not require him to follow that route.

As he reached the apartment complex, Grimmjow rolled into the parking lot, set the car in neutral, and redialed the customer's number to notify him that he had arrived. But before he could even click the "call" button on his cell phone, a tall, beanpole of a man came strutting toward him. Dressed in a pressed black suit that matched his long hair perfectly, he was garbed in strange shoes that curled at the toes and a perpetual frown that displayed all of his very much square teeth.

The man knocked on the window impatiently, and as Grimmjow rolled it down, he asked, "You the taxi guy?"

Grimmjow nodded. "Yeah, that's me," and unlocked the doors.

Quickly entering the car, the man adjusted his seatbelt and seat to fit his tall frame and brusquely introduced himself as "Nnoitra Gilga". He glanced at his watch nervously, but quickly put on a disagreeable expression when his eyes met Grimmjow. "What's your fare?"

"One dollar and fifty-seven cents per mile." He set the car to drive and asked, "Where to?" He had a feeling that the man, Nnoitra, was not one for small talk, so he tried to keep the talking short, sweet, and to a minimum. Maybe it would net him a good Yelp! review.

"Three Gamuza Circle," Nnoitra replied. "And then to the Hollow World Inc. Headquarters at Las Noches Plaza. Like I said on the phone, I'm kind of in a hurry, so would you mind speeding things up?" It was less of a question and more of an order.

Hollow World Inc.? Did Nnoitra work there? Strange—Grimmjow worked as a janitor there from six to ten o'clock in the evening, but he had never seen or heard of the tall man working there. Perhaps his shift ended earlier?

Grimmjow didn't reply, and Nnoitra probably wasn't listening anyway. He felt a spark of annoyance, which to be honest, had already been there since he'd awaken, flare up. Damn, the man didn't need to be so goddamn impatient—at least Grimmjow was _trying_ to be civil. Okay, it was all for a good review, but still.

The drive was painfully silent, but Nnoitra certainly kept things alive by tapping his fingers especially annoyingly on the windowsill. Grimmjow thought he would go crazy listening to it, but he was not stupid enough to sacrifice his taxi driving reputation on something so small—even though he _really_ , really wanted to.

As they arrived at Gamuza Circle, a small cul-de-sac filled with picturesque houses with neat little picket fences and gardens, Nnoitra told Grimmjow, "I'm going inside, so wait here 'cause I'm not going to pay you until you drop me off at Las Noches Plaza."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, buddy, I know. Take your time." His voice came out more perturbed than he intended, but he was slowly running out of patience. Did the man not think that Grimmjow knew the ins and outs of being a taxi driver? Hell, he'd been doing it since he'd entered (insert badass college name that alludes to something in Hueco Mundo here) for the extra income since his classes only started in the afternoon. Of course, he wouldn't receive the fare until the person had left the car. That was common sense.

He unlocked the car and Nnoitra raced out. He watched as the dark-haired man's facial expression changed from a crabby, slightly nervous one to one that made him look years younger and eons happier as he approached the house. Watching boredly, Grimmjow tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and locked the car, as Nnoitra rang the doorbell and waited.

A moment later, a beaming woman with long, turquoise-colored hair greeted him and Grimmjow cringed when she hugged Nnoitra. The force of the hug looked like it could break every single bone in his body, and their closeness led him to believe that they were more than friends. Grimmjow did a double-take. How the hell was he still single when the beanpole grump managed to have a girlfriend? Damn, life was unfair. Nnoitra stepped inside for a moment, which left Grimmjow with nothing to do.

The taxi driver fiddled with his smartphone for a few minutes, before a jaunty knock on the window averted his attention. He looked up to see Nnoitra's girlfriend grinning at him, motioning for him to roll down the window. Grimmjow could only stare at her conservatively-clad figure for a moment.

. . . Were boobs that big even natural?

He blinked himself out of his reverie and rolled down the window. "Er, yeah?"

"Hi! I'm Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck! You're the cabbie, right?" The woman smiled.

"Yeah, that's me. I'm Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez." He unlocked the doors as Nnoitra stomped out of the house, not wanting to be caught ogling at his girlfriend. The tall man's face immediately settled into a frown at the sight of him.

Nnoitra opened the door and in a gentleman-like fashion, let Nelliel go in first. She giggled at him and curtsied, before entering. The pair settled into the backseat comfortably.

Grimmjow shifted the car into drive and affirmed, "So guys are both going to Hollow World Inc., right?"

It was Nelliel who answered, "Right!" She leaned forward toward Grimmjow and squinted as he pulled out of Gamuza Circle and the rounding cul-de-sac. "Hey, haven't I seen you there before?"

Nnoitra looked at her in confusion. "You have?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't you work the evening janitorial shift there, Grimmjow? I think I've seen you there in the night when I pick up Nnoitra when he works late."

Not taking his eyes off the road, Grimmjow nodded, "That's me. I work part-time as a taxi driver and part-time janitor." He grimaced when the car in front of him stopped too short and he slammed on the brake pedal. _Damn_.

"Well," Nelliel said, not even flinching at the sudden stop, "You'll be seeing us a lot more often because Nnoitra and I are both working there now! He's in the sales department, and he managed to put in a good word for me, and now I'm Coyote Starrk's secretary."

Ah, so Nnoitra was in the sales department. That made sense as to why Grimmjow had never seen him before. He was pretty sure the sales department occupied the upper floors, while he only mopped the lower level cafeteria and did minor landscaping outside.

"Coyote Starrk, huh? Heard he's a pretty big guy in Hollow World Inc.," Grimmjow commented, not wanting to suffer a silent car again. "Being his secretary must be a pretty high position."

Nnoitra scowled. "Of course it's a high position. Coyote Starrk's Hollow World Inc.'s chief operating officer. He's _second in command_."

 _Oi_. If a pretty girl hadn't been in the backseat, Grimmjow would have parked the car in the shoulder of the road and fucking roundhouse kicked Nnoitra in the jaw. Did this man not know when to shut up? _Customer service, Grimmjow, customer service_ , he mentally muttered to himself through clenched teeth.

The next few moments, Nelliel and Nnoitra made small talk through whispers in the backseat and Grimmjow was ninety percent sure he heard kissing a few times back there. An uncomfortable blush settled across his face, but Grimmjow tried to concentrate on the road.

They were a few blocks from Hollow World Inc., and Grimmjow was pretty sure that, if traffic permitted—which it looked like it would—they would arrive at Las Noches Plaza just a few minutes before six o'clock. Nnoitra had stopped muttering about the time, and in the rearview mirror, Grimmjow noticed the pair holding hands and leaning on each other's shoulders peacefully. He gulped. Holy hell, he had _not_ expected the gruff man to be so goddamn _mushy_ with his girlfriend.

Grimmjow scanned the road a few feet ahead of him. The traffic had cleared up and he was driving at the posted speed limit of forty miles per hour. He internally rejoiced when he saw his oncoming traffic light flash from red to green.

A man dressed in a silver suit with dark hair stepped abruptly onto the crosswalk, staring at his smartphone. He hurried across the street even though his protected WALK sign had not been displayed, and seemed to in his own world, ignoring the several annoyed and afraid honks from passing cars.

Grimmjow's roadway scanning was not fast enough and noticed the man too late. He let out an animalistic yelp and turned the steering wheel hard to the left. The _thud_ to his side foretold him of the crossing man's demise, and Grimmjow perspired nervously as his eyes widened to the size of saucers. _Holy absolute fuck_ , had he just _killed_ someone? No. No. Nononono. It couldn't be. Dammit—he'd be charged with vehicular manslaughter, right? Damn. Damndamndamn. He saw his future melt away right before his eyes.

"Holy shit, Grimmjow!" Nnoitra yelled from the backseat. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Goddamn, he had forgotten he had passengers. He twisted and turned to the backseat. Nnoitra was holding a shivering Nelliel as she hurriedly dialed nine-one-one.

Then he felt it.

A dark shadow passed over his head simultaneously with a feeling of foreboding. Grimmjow slowly turned around to see the street pole he had swerved into teetering. His mind blank with fear, his eyes followed it as it tilted side to side.

He went numb and he felt as if he was watching from outside as he saw the street pole become larger and larger as it toppled onto his car. He didn't even get to see his life flash before his eyes as glass shattered, airbags deployed, and aluminum twisted as if were clay.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was dead.


	2. The History of Szayelaporro Granz

“Kill me,” Szayelaporro Granz moaned dramatically, “kill me now.”  He buried his face into his laptop keyboard, unaware of the random sentences the pressure of his keys made from his head.  His lab report now read “The symbiosis between desertadaskasasa”.  An A+ paper was surely en route.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the small apartment, and his brother Yylfordt peeked into his room, his eyebrows crinkling in worry.  “What’s gotten you all riled up?”  

“This stupid lab report,” Szayelaporro muttered.  “It’s due next week, but Verona and Lumina think we should get the majority of it written today.”  His two imbecile lab partners had somehow gotten it into their stupid heads that he wouldn’t complete his share of the project and would procrastinate until the period before it was due.  As if!  Szayelaporro was a model student . . . most of the time.

Yylfordt nodded.  “Lab reports  seem to be all you’re doing ever since you quit the Drama Club, Szayel.  Think you’re under too much stress?”  

The pink-haired boy sighed.  Ever since he had given up acting to focus on his biology degree, his elder brother had always speculated that he was unhappy or stressed.  He wasn’t, really.  

Sure, he occasionally found himself missing the thrill of standing on a stage where crowds of people would watch him perform when he filled out numerous lab reports and presented case studies.  And perhaps when he discussed various theories and laws with his peers, he missed the collaboration of working with his fellows actors in putting on a show that would be remembered forever.

“Really, brother, I’m  _ fine _ ,” Szayelaporro replied.  Biology, especially the study of the human anatomy had always been his passion ever since he was seven  when he broken his arm climbing up the slide in the playground.

Yylfordt raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further.  “Fine, then come help me make breakfast.”  He turned to their very small kitchen down the hall. 

Happy to have an excuse to leave his computer, Szayelaporro followed his brother.  He glanced at the clock by the wall and his eyes converted to the size of saucers.   _ Holy hell _ , he thought.   _ How is it already almost six o’clock? _ ’

His brother’s eyes followed his gaze, and he rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, Mister I-Can-Survive-On-A-Steady-Diet-Of-Caffeine-And-Saltines, it’s already morning.”  His voice turned light and teasing.  “How many hours of sleep did you get, again?”

“ _ None _ ,” the pink-haired boy huffed, rubbing his eyes sleepily.  Had he really stayed up all night writing that damned lab report?  Perhaps university really  _ was  _ taking over his life.  He turned to Yylfordt.  “What’s for breakfast?”

“Raw subordinate,” Yylfordt deadpanned, as he cracked two eggs onto a skillet and added a wedge of cheese that was larger than his fist.  “What does it look like?”

_ Where the hell did ‘raw subordinate’ come from?   _ Szayelaporro peered into the pan, and stroked his chin sagely.  “Like the egg of a Gallus domesticus and a lump of cholesterol.”  

His brother glared at him mockingly.  “And this is why I normally don’t let you into the kitchen.”    He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “Turn on the TV, will you?  Doesn’t the news start soon-ish?”

“Yeah, the six o’clock news starts at six o’clock, as usual.”

He ambled to the couch and began searching through the many pillows stacked on it for the television remote.  When he realized that it was not there, he began to scour the entirety of the family room, but to no avail.

“Try the top of the microwave,” Yylfordt suggested as he diced a carrot and added it to the skillet.   
  
Szayelaporro turned his head to the white appliance and plucked the remote from the top of it, grimacing when he noticed a schmear of butter on the side and painstakingly wiped it off.  Ah, he really  _ loved  _ living the bachelor life with his brother.  Loved, loved,  _ loved i _ t.   
  
He clicked the “ON” button and the television sprang to life, displaying a gameshow where a giggling, scantily-clad lady was hosting.   
  
“Not interested,” he muttered, as he surfed the channels before finally arriving at his brother’s and his favorite news channel.  They both agreed that the journalists on the shows had a real grasp on what real news was—and it was never too left or right wing.   
  
Seated in front of the camera were the usual slew of hosts, minus one (he couldn’t quite remember what her name was)—Choe Neng Poww, Tesra Lindocruz, and Dondochakka Tu Odelschwanck.   
  
“Hello everyone,” Tesra began, his voice quiet and solemn, “we’re sorry to inform you that one of our usual hosts, Miss Loly Aivirrne, can’t be here with us today.”   
  
“That’s right,” Yylfordt murmured from the kitchen, “didn’t her sister die in a crosswalk accident a few weeks ago?”   
  
Szayelaporro turned to his brother.  “I remember that.  I guess that’s probably why she’s not here.”  He turned toward the television, shaking his head in wonder.  “I can’t believe she’s still grieving. ”   
  
Yylfordt shrugged and shoved his fried mess of eggs, cheese and carrots onto two plates and came to sit next to his brother on the couch.  He sank uncomfortably into the understuffed pillows.  “It’s just harder for some people, I guess.”   
  
The pink-haired boy accepted the plate and stared down at it.  He blinked.  Whatever Yylfordt had made looked like an omelette gone horribly wrong.  He took a bite and shrugged.  Surprisingly, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as it looked.   
  
He turned back to the television, where Tesra continued to relay the news, “ . . . as well as strawberries.”     
  
Szayelaporro watched intently as a  man appeared next to Tesra and handed him a card.  The slight, short haired man’s eyes-widened as he read the writing aloud. “Fifteen minutes ago, there was a car crash at the intersection between Maple and Helmsburrow.  Several people were killed and one was injured.”     
  
Almost instantaneously, as he spoke, footage of the crash visualized on the screen.  Szayelaporro grimaced as he spotted a twisted fender and enormous piles of broken glass surrounding the demolished vehicle.  Oi, he hoped nobody had gotten seriously hurt.     
  
Tesra continued, “While little is known about the details of the crash and more is to be released in the future, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, the taxi driver whose car did the crashing, was severely injured and is currently in the emergency room.”  His eyes widened and his next words came through a murmur, almost as if he was reading it to himself rather than the audience.  “Among the dead are CEO of Hollow World Inc, Coyote Starrk, Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck and,” his face face paled, “Nn—Nnoitra Gilga.”     
  
Tesra dropped the card and ashen-faced, ran out the room, politely muttering, ‘If you’ll excuse me.”

Dondochakka followed him immediately with a distressed look in his eyes.     
  
“What the—what the fuck?”  Yylfordt exclaimed, covering his mouth when the heard the curse word.  He wasn’t normally one to swear.   
  
“Grimmjow’s in the hospital?”  Szayelaporro asked quietly.  He knew that his brother and Grimmjow had been close friends throughout grade and middle school.  It had seemed as if they’d lost touch in high school, when Grimmjow had become “King of La Garganta High”, but they had rekindled their friendship when they had found out that they had applied and been accepted into the same university.

He watched as his brother’s face paled and gave a shaky nod.  Yylfordt pressed his hands to his temples and his eyes bulged out owlishly.  “Oh my God, Szayel, what are we going to do?”  His brother sunk deeper into the flimsy cushions until Szayelaporro could hear his spine  _ thump _ ! against the couch’s wooden frame.  His breath came out in anxious, labored puffs.  “What are we going to  _ do _ ?”

Szayelaporro felt a dagger pierce through his stomach.  His eyes widened as he touched his abdomen and scanned the room for whoever might have thrown it.  He found no one.  

_ Oh _ , he realized.  Seeing his brother in panic like that felt . . . painful, like being impaled.  He swallowed hard and from the corner of his eye, he watched Yylfordt, whose eyes had glazed over as he rocked himself slowly.

He reached out to touch Yylfordt on the shoulder.  Szayelaporro’s heart sank as his brother flinched at the touch, as he turned to him with eyes opened wide in a fearful frenzy.  The pink-haired boy gulped.  It looked like he would have to be the elder brother in this situation.

“We’ll go see him,” he decided, gently tugging on his brother’s arms.  “Come on, I’ll drive us to the hospital.”  The news anchor had never said that Grimmjow was dead, had he?  There was still a chance, wasn’t there?

The drive to the hospital was in silence.  Yylfordt, who usually lit up the car ride with his sunny personality, sat nearly comatose in the passenger seat, staring straight forward and not making a single customary jibe at Szayelaporro’s jerky and inexperienced driving.

As he nearly sped through red lights and halted way too abruptly at “STOP” signs, Szayelaporro tried to remember the Grimmjow he had grown up with.  

* * *

_ The bright-blue-haired kid had always been brash and boisterous but a rare friend to Yylfordt nonetheless.  His confident personality had always made him unbelievably popular in grade school and middle school, but he still stuck close to the timid Yylfordt like a shadow.   _

_ It wasn’t until he hit puberty head-on in high school and turned into the god that stupid girls would swoon over, he earned the undisputed title of ‘King of La Garganta High School’.  It was then that Grimmjow decided to form a new group of friends.  _

_ Szayelaporro would remember several days when he, a freshman, had to keep his sophomore brother company during assemblies and other outings because his only best (and seemingly only) friend, Grimmjow, couldn’t be bothered. _

_Ye_ _ars passed and it was soon time for submitting college applications.  Szayelaporro could remember the day clearly; he was sitting at the kitchen table, double-checking that he had the sufficient credits to graduate from high school early, when Grimmjow had burst in with Yylfordt, laughing like old times._

_ “Didn’t you hear, Szayel?”  Yylfordt had asked, grinning.  “Grimm and I got accepted into the same university!”  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Szayelaporro couldn’t believe it.  Since when had Grimmjow and Yylfordt become friends again?  He eyed the man next to Yylfordt suspiciously.  Ever since Grimmjow had ditched his brother, he had become very wary of the cunning, panther-like presence of the blue-haired man.  

_ He had a very bad feeling about this friendship. _ _   
_

* * *

They arrived at the hospital in quick time, although several detour routes had been set up to redirect people from the site of the car crash.

“Yylfordt,” Szayelaporro called.  His brother made no movement to get up from the passenger seat.  He tapped him on the arm.  “Yylfordt, come on.  We’re here.”

The blond-haired man sprang to life then and shook his head as if rousing from a dream.  “Sorry, Szayel,” he mumbled.  He opened the car door slowly and ambled out.

_ Damn you, Grimmjow _ , Szayelaporro thought as he led his brother down the street and to the the front door of the hospital.   _ You’d better still be alive.  I’ll never forgive you if you’re not _ .

The hospital waiting room was solemn, sterile.  Szayelaporro could remember the eerie days he spent waiting for his family inside when he had broken his arm.  It wasn’t any fun then, and it was even less fun now.

He led Yylfordt toward a chair in the waiting room.  “If you need anything, let me know,” he whispered to his brother, who had already melted into a defeated puddle onto the cushioned seat.

Distressed when he received no answer, Szayelaporro wandered around the room until he reached the receptionist’s desk.  A small name plate was seated next to the man working the desk.  It read ‘Medazeppi Fraccione’.

_ Strange name _ , thought Szayelaporro as he asked the man, “We’re here to see Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.”

Medazeppi raised an eyebrow and his eyes didn’t move from his computer screen.  “Friends or family?”

“Well, I’m neither, but my brother’s the closest thing to family that Grimmjow’s got.”  This was particularly true, considering Grimmjow’s parents had abandoned him when he was seven and he had been living with nasty foster parents all his life.

The receptionist let out a sigh the seemed to reverberate through his massive body.  “Take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Szayelaporro said as politely as he could.  He meandered toward Yylfordt, who had yet to change his position on the chair.  

Eyes staring straight forward, his brother whispered a quiet, “When.”

“Eh, I think he said we can see him soon.  The receptionist said that I should ‘take a seat’, whatever that means.”  As per the advice, he did just that as he sank into the chair next to his brother.

A feeling of foreboding pricked his neck, and it surprised him, as he brushed it off as worry over Grimmjow.  He never had thought he’d feel that way.

Trying to rid himself of the feeling, he turned to Yylfordt.  “Don’t worry, brother.  Grimmjow won’t die in a hospital.  People are  _ saved _ in hospitals.”  The feeling didn’t go away; in fact, it grew stronger.  He kept yammering on, trying to ignore it and brandished his acting skill by putting on a mask of inner calm.  “Do you remember when I broke my arm when I was seven  at the park?  Everyone was worried, but look at me, I turned out to be fine.”

“Szayelaporro,” Yylfordt spoke monotonously.  He sighed.  “That’s . . . different.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

He focused on counting the purple stripes on the horns of the bull painting that hung on the hospital’s walls across from him.  The feeling of apprehension had yet to leave him, and it messed up his counting.  The first time he numbered the stripes there were 72 in all, but the second time showed 69. 

His head aching, Szayelaporro’s observant eyes wandered the room.  The clean space was quiet, and for once, not bustling with people.  The room was completely white, save for colorful paintings that decorated the walls.  There were slight shadows around  the many corners of the room.   _ Shadows large enough to conceal a man _ , he deduced, if his measurements on a typical human body were correct.

Something in his mind clicked and the feeling on the back of his neck went into hyperdrive.  Uneasiness flooded him.  Something  _ very _ bad was about to happen.  An assumption told him that he had just guessed the exact moment when Grimmjow had died on his stretcher, but it  _ was _ merely an assumption.

The reality was  _ much  _ worse, and it all happened so fast.

Szayelaporro was horribly right—those shadows in the hospital  _ were _ large enough to conceal a human body, and conceal one they did.

Out of the shadows peeped an arm holding a gun.

A gun pointed right at Yylfordt.  

Szayelaporro heard the  _ click _ of a trigger being pulled and let his instincts run wild, hardly believing the situation he was in.  

“Move, Yylfordt!” he cried, shielding his despondent brother with his body.

And then all went black.

Szayelaporro Granz was dead.

 


End file.
